


Music Of The Night

by HecoHansen31



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Historically Inaccurate, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26429266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HecoHansen31/pseuds/HecoHansen31
Summary: You end up accidentally witnessing the great legend of ‘The Phantom Of The Opera’, much closer than it is suitable, but strangely you end up taking a like to the man behind the mask.
Relationships: Ivar (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s), Ivar (Vikings)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Music Of The Night

Growing up with no talent or ear for music in a theatre company was almost a sarcastic joke of the Fate.

But it was your life sadly.

After your father had basically sold himself off to pay the debts he had collected for his own passion for the arts, his sole daughter had been acquired as a pawn in the company to pay off your father’s debts.

Although you had no talent as a singer or a dancer, you were good at running various errands along the company, helping mostly through bringing the plays to actresses and to musicians, being so swift of feet and invisible that the company had taken to call you ‘little opera mouse’.

As of lately the whole company had shifted from its usual opera house to a new one in Copenhagen to follow the directors’ dream of being known also in the capital.

And to do that, they had called to themselves one of the best sopranos of the whole country, if not world.

Signora Carlotta.

To whom you had been linked, since the woman was as frivolous as they came and even more she was demanding with everyone, constantly asking everything and anything of you, and you tried to match her up with also the requests of the other rising star the producers had scripted for the whole season, Freydis Magnusdottir.

You had to say that you preferred her immensely to Carlotta, but there was a mysticism to the brilliant singer that put strangely put at unease-

Even more after strange events had started happening, such as the disappearing of some musical scripts, and the appearing of various letters for the producers.

All the letters asked of the same thing:

‘You must make Freydis Magnusdottir as your first singer. Instead of that fat frog dressed in precious lace’.

You had found some of them in your own room/office, since you were the one that led communications among the theatre.

And also the signature was always the same ‘The Phantom Of The Opera’.

At first you had thought it was some silly joke and Freydis had been thoroughly investigated by the whole company because she was thought to be the one behind the entire set up, since it would have been an advantage for her, to get Carlotta out of the main scene.

And soon the phantom wish had come true.

Carlotta’s ‘poor nerves’ had been horribly pressed after another letter, and the disappearance of one of her favorite dresses hadn’t certainly helped.

As always, she had just complained about it with the directors, threatening to quit the whole act.

And they had granted her an off day (although she basically spent most of her days in bed and all the hours of the theatre practice were set on her awake hours).

Making Freydis take her place.

Freydis’ performance, although stained by her inexperience and anxiety, was brilliant and marvelous, enough that you had to bring her at least a dozen of bouquets of flowers, the umpteenth in your hands as you knocked softly at her door, worried that the singer might be exercising.

Each time she had caught her in such an act, Freydis had seemed almost embarrassed and although she hadn’t the primadonna personality of Carlotta, she still had asked you to avoid visiting her rooms during her vocal training.

‘I prefer not to be disturbed, since I need all the focus in the world’ had explained the blonde haired singer, but this time you didn’t hear her exercising and the young man that had put the bouquet of pink roses in your hands, had been pretty eager for Freydis to receive them.

When you didn’t hear anything, you opened the door just to find the room completely empty, which surprised you, although you assumed that Freydis simply must have been in her private toilette or maybe talking with the producers.

It wouldn’t have surprised you if finally ‘The Phantom Of The Opera’ got the beautiful blonde woman to be added in the next show, instead of Carlotta.

They’d have paid less and had more talent.

But Carlotta had her friends, and this counted a lot for two desperate producers trying to get a role in the high society of Copenhagen.

You simply settled on putting down the flowers as you adjusted the letter the young man had given you on Freydis’ small vanity, among the multiple others.

You were honestly tired that night, so ending your work early would have simply suited you.

Although you hadn’t done your own show, you had been running the whole week non-stop through the whole Copenhagen, delivering the invites to the opera and the bills to the creditors, as well as collecting everything they needed for the show.

Even during the show you had stared at it on your feet, having to be sure that everything would go perfectly, since the producers, although they didn’t show it, were worried of the Phantom’s multiple threats, and the only thing they had allowed was for the box, he had asked for, to be free.

You had had to check it at the end of the show and you had to admit that you had had goosebumps till you had opened the door, just to discover the whole box was empty and nobody had seemed to touch it.

It was probably a joke, within the theatre community.

Or maybe from the owners of the opera house, the Lothbrocks.

They had rented the opera house to the producers, at a price that seemed almost ridicule for the expensive designs of the opera, but you hadn’t complained, although you all could see and understand, now, why the price had been so low.

They had been at the opera that night, and they had gone behind the curtains to compliment the producers on the show and they had seemed almost confused when they had been questioned about a mysterious ‘phantom’, but you had noticed the way they had drawn their eyes to the ground as if to shed the truth.

They had even insisted that if it was so serious, the producers could still talk with Madame Lagertha, the dancers’ leader, and a woman loyal to them, and had been there when the first had at first opened its doors.

You were halfway through retiring for the night, wishing your ‘goodbyes’ to the producers and Freydis, but as you moved to turn around you heard a something strange.

A voice escaped the mirror.

You thought it was tiredness sinking over your mental sanity, but then it happened again, and a figure loomed on the mirror, a silhouette of darkness against the utter silver of the elegant mirror.

“Freydis, my sweet” the voice was absolutely male and so strong that you couldn’t help but think that it was the Phantom.

And this time you couldn’t pretend anymore it was a simple joke.

“… are you there, my sweet?” he probably had pegged you for Freydis, since you weren’t visible to the mirror, but he could probably hear a single presence in the room “… did the show go well? Do those awfully ignorant producers know now the importance of your beautiful voice? See our training helped you to the fame of stars!”.

You choked back anything you could have said and without even realizing you moved towards the door, closing it behind you attentively just as you caught Freydis exit her private bathroom to answer the phantom.

“Oh, my angel of music, it was marvelous!” the woman sang as you moved your ear against the door to listen on whatever conspiration had brought Freydis and the phantom together.

But Freydis sounded innocent, again that mysticism in full force in her voice as she sang out to her heart’s delight the happiness she had felt during her exhibition, and also how worried she had been of not being able to follow in Carlotta’s footsteps.

‘Oh, fear not, my beloved Freydis’ the voice was ecstatic and booming, but also strangely much younger than you thought a phantom might have sounded ‘… you are brilliant, my sweet and soon the whole Denmark will know of you! And next the world!”.

And then you were interrupted by a pointed cough and as you turned you found one of Freydis’ admirer, his blonde hair making him appear as some magical knight, and you found yourself blushing under his reprimanding stare.

It wasn’t a good thing to have been caught listening on others’ conversations.

So, you just chose to shoot him a small smirk and then run away.

But sleep didn’t come easily to you, that night.

The knowledge that ghosts existed made you restless in bed.

\----

The following morning you almost wanted to confront Freydis, but the girl seemed constantly busy, either practicing, with her own ‘Angel of Music’ or meeting up with her fans and producers, her performance having impressed many.

And you had to continue on doing your job, so only after you had finished any pause, you just had the night for yourself, as you decided to investigate on your own in Freydis’ room, although the sole thought of meeting a phantom made you scared.

But you felt at the same time fascinated by the sole thought of discovering the first phantom in the whole world.

And also, had you put an end to the phantom’s ‘reign of terror’.

If you did, you were sure you’d be able to make the producers erase a bit more of your debt that grew each year instead of diminishing.

And by now you were sure you’d be their puppets for ever.

You ventured in Freydis’ room with the excuse of exchanging the water to her flowers, but in reality you looked around the room, after having covered the mirror, since it gave you the awful feeling of being spied.

You had been lucky that neither Freydis or the phantom had caught you last night, but you had to be careful as you moved Freydis’ furniture attentively, knowing that you could justify this act as searching for rats.

God knew only where those beasts could appear.

Everything still looked as plain as it had been, the flowers and the letters being the sole décor of the modest room, but as you were halfway through unveiling the mirror you noticed something next to the mirror.

A brick was slightly pushed forwards and you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing it and push it forwards just to hear a soft sound and then a rougher one announcing the shift of the wall and revealing an entrance.

To what?

You were scared to find out.

But still you dipped inside, a bit comforted by the fact that there were torches on the path, signaling that something lived there, to need the light of the fire.

But it was comforting till a certain point.

Who lived between the walls?

You hadn’t known about any room like that when you had first settled in the opera, and you were sure nobody else knew, apart from Freydis probably.

This all hinted more to a possible allegiance between Freydis and whoever the phantom truly was.

And you’d have found out.

Hadn’t you read too many adventure books, you’d have come back to ask a few of the members of the staff to come back with you and explore the trap hole, but you felt that if you had left the room now the secret would have also been of somebody else.

And who would have seriously believed you?!

Although they were some kind of family to you, you always felt a bit like the one who stuck out.

And you knew it wasn’t a good thing.

No, it was better to wait a bit and see for yourself, maybe come back with proofs.

Nobody ever noticed you and they wouldn’t have seen you neither in there.

The path was strangely small, and you had to lower your head in certain point and crawl lightly.

The path was also extremely damaged and you had to crouch, but also be careful of the cutting pieces on the floor, a few had accidentally cut the fabric of your shoes and making you curse between yourself, annoyed.

But as you moved further in the small corridor, you finally heard something.

Music.

Hauntingly beautiful music.

Somebody was playing the organ.

And what horrified you was that you didn’t have an organ, among your instruments in the orchestra.

Music intensified as you came closer to a source of light, revealing a second room.

Checking your watch, you realized that although it had seemed to pass an entire eternity to reach the place it had been barely a quarter of an hour and as you moved to the linked room, barely twenty minutes had passed.

And the music had solely intensified.

You held yourself against the right side of the door, wanting to spy on the inside without being noticed, but as you sneaked a look, you soon realized that the room was empty of any human.

But it was elegantly decorated and furnished with any furniture that might have suited a king, a trail of water even coming across it, signaling to you that your journey had brought you to the sewers.

A quick sniff to it confirmed to you your hypothesis.

Looking across you noticed that there was a small bridge for you to move across the room and another room appeared to you, although this one looked protected by a door, but the music did seem to come across from it.

Which meant that you had to open it to find out whoever the phantom was.

If he existed.

An idea was appearing in your brain.

Maybe Freydis had discovered these rooms and used them as her own private lair, faking the phantom story to advantage yourself.

Although you couldn’t help but think that Freydis wouldn’t have done something like this.

She was certainly ambitious, but she didn’t seem to have this interest in getting her own fame through illicit methods.

You only had one choice to discover it.

You moved quickly across the lighted up room, being careful of everything you saw around yourself, worried that the phantom might materialize right in front of your eyes, but so far you didn’t have any surprises.

And as you moved to the door, you found out it was unlocked but scared of the noise it might make you opened it slowly, trying to peer inside, although the music continued, covering any of your movements.

And as it progressed you found yourself enthralled by the sound, and yet there was something deeply disturbing in the sound although the harmony and timing of it all was perfect.

It was created by somebody with a great talent.

And as far as you knew Freydis barely knew how to play piano.

But a musical ear could understand so much more than you thought.

Unluckily you were painfully ‘deaf’ to that whole world.

And it was something that although you were by now used, it still hurt you beyond anything else

But what truly killed you was your curiosity as you came closer and closer to the door, eventually abandoning any pretense as you moved with less attention and carefulness, eventually bring yourself in another room, one that was thoroughly more decorated.

And it had a big organ at the center of it.

And a man played it.

And for a moment you thought it was the phantom, but you thought that his music had something damnably human to his, although he moved strangely on the organ, his leg being bound and a series of slides linking him to the lower plan, the one where you stood, captured by that music.

Sexuality was that human note in the tantalizing music you were feeling.

And almost unknowingly you found yourself moving closer and closer to the center of the music, as the man continued on playing it, focused only on the notes, which now reverberated to a lower state.

And then a horrible sound.

Exasperation had gotten to the phantom and his hands had slammed on the organ, the whole object making a croaking sound which got you to immediately cover your ears and huff out at the horrible sound.

You were almost a pained animal.

A maenad who had exited a trance and now was left to face again the harsh reality.

And then the phantom felt your presence.

He must have been attracted by the fact that music didn’t cover your presence anymore.

And as he turned, you understood that although he might not have been a phantom, he was some demonic creature for sure.

He wore a mask, a skeleton one, horridly transforming his figure in a demonic presence and before you knew it, fright came to you and you did the only thing that a girl could do in this kind of situations.

You fainted.

* * *

You woke up with your hands tied and your head pulsing.

You had probably hit the ground after your body had given out under you.

And the Phantom Of The Opera was right in front of you, looking at you with a curious look, although the smirk on his face was purely devilish.

And his mask didn’t help.

Now that you were free to look at him, your eyes were able to gaze onto it properly and you found that the mask covered all his face, except his mouth, revealing plump and almost feminine traits.

And his eyes were electrical in their own rage.

There was no way this was Freydis.

And if Freydis knew of the existence of this creature, she must have met a ‘devil’ not an ‘angel’.

“… look what the wind swept in” the voice matched the one that had come from the mirror the previous night and finally anxiety settled on your stomach as fear redoubled it, probably for your own worry about making it out alive.

You wouldn’t have.

You couldn’t fight, with your hands bound behind your back and your legs tied to the chair you had been set on, nothing being on you that could cut deep enough to allow you to be free.

And the devilish creature just laughed at your try to resist the ropes around you.

“… a little mouse” commented the creature, settled up on a chair near to yours, again his legs were bound and you couldn’t help but think that not solely his face must have been scarred, but also his own body “… what are you doing, here, little mouse?”.

The nickname being horridly pronounced, made a shiver fall down your back.

Because it made you feel damnably exposed.

And the way he focused on the ‘little’ part, it just made you feel even more powerless.

And bound to a chair, there wasn’t much that could help.

And that would have helped.

You refused to talk, knowing that it was the only form of resistance you could push against your kidnapped, but the man simply tried to tease you into submission, making the same verses one would do to attract a cat.

“… did you wander for curiosity?” asked softly the man, as he toyed with his own feet, gently moving them to one side as his torso followed them, a macabre imitation of a childhood play “… or did you lose your way and ended up in my lair?”.

“Let me go” it was so low that you weren’t surprised, when the creature simply shot a look as if to say ‘come again, please’ “… you should let me go! I won’t say anything to anyone!”.

“Will you?” again that teasing tone, treating you almost as if you were a child “… will you promise it?”.

“You are a demon” this was enough to get him to assume a more severe glare.

And you thought you had just signed over your death.

“… I am a phantom not a demon” it was so low that this time it was you who didn’t think it was truly being uttered “… that’s what people say”.

“You don’t look like a phantom” the knowledge that you death would have come soon made you bold “… somebody will notice my absence and I have left the door open, so believe me they’ll find your lair”.

You hoped so.

Although you were well aware that not many would have missed you.

Your family was all dead and you hadn’t created relationships that went farther than simply work-related stuff.

So, nobody would have come.

But the phantom didn’t know that.

“I do hate the fact that you discovered my secret, but also I do admire the smartness that brought you here” he commented, and although his smirk didn’t stop being teasing, his eyes were genuine “… I wish my Freydis had the same passion for adventure”.

Whatever harsh expression he had hidden under his mask was now exchanged with one of longing and you understood one thing.

He was in love with Freydis.

And then you realized it.

He had been the one behind the threatening letters, probably as his own way to prove his loyalty to the woman, although from the show of the mirror you were sure that Freydis hadn’t ever seen him.

As you did.

“… but I’ll just wait” suddenly his expression became a more tormented one “… and in the meanwhile I’ll deal with silly mouse like you, little one”.

His tone made you choke on the words and you couldn’t now hide anymore the fear from his eyes, before any tension was dissipated by a loud laugh from the phantom and for a moment you were worried of what he’d do next.

He might have simply killed you, but his music and his eyes spoke of a wickedness that worried you.

Greatly.

“No need to fear, my little mouse!” he smirked, as you felt the immense pressure of almost having sold your soul to the devil “… I have better ideas for you than death”.

* * *

An hour later you were back in Freydis’ room, thankfully she hadn’t come back and neither she had noticed the brick as you settled everything back carefully.

Now something hung heavy in you.

What the phantom, or who pretended to be a phantom, had asked you to do.

‘You’ll be my eyes in the theatre’ he had ordered you with mischievous blue eyes ‘… I do see much but not everything and I’ll use all your knowledge to have my sweet Freydis in my arms, soon’.

You hadn’t had much chance to do anything as you simply nodded.

Your survival instinct had taken over your body and only when he had released you from the hold of the rope you had been able to breath properly and your mind had immediately went to what you could to defeat the phantom.

You’d let the producers know and then you’d tell Freydis to run away from the man’s obsessive desire.

But the phantom had quickly laced a tight grip around your hand to block you form moving.

His entire upper body seemed to tense at it, and you couldn’t deny that it seemed impressive strong, enough that you thought he’d be able to crash your wrist between his fingers.

And the contrast between his healthy torso and bound legs made you even more aware that something must have been different in this man.

Hence it all confirmed your thought that, although he wasn’t a phantom, he was a creature of darkness.

A demon in a human body.

‘… and don’t even think to utter to anybody a word about this’ he muttered with a low tone that made another shiver curse your spine ‘… nobody would believe you, first of all, and secondly I’ll make sure that the next time you won’t be able to talk’.

And the threat kept your lips sealed for the rest of you daily chores, enough that you heard your colleagues comment annoyedly about your silence.

But they didn’t know that you had a heavy curse upon your soul.

You still thought that the sole thing that you could do was resist the phantom’s orders, starting with forgetting about the brick that stood unruly out of the wall in Freydis’ room.

You’d just go on with your life.

But after the third night of nothing coming from you, the phantom visited you, in your room, after you had just come back from supper.

It had been a silent one, since signora Carlotta kept on not wanting to join them, annoyed by the fact that Freydis had taken her place and her applauses, meanwhile the singer seemed on cloud nine, which made her quiet and only the usual chatter of the dancers filled the hall.

You couldn’t help but feel like the curse of the phantom had influenced also the ones around you, and when you found him in your room, sat upon your modest bed, you almost uttered a curse of your own at the frightful surprise he gave you.

“I have a nightingale that don’t sing, little mouse” he told you as he laid down on the bed “… what should I do?”.

“How… how did you arrive here?” the voice was choked in your own words.

“I know this place…” he spoke as if it was obvious “… I move myself through the walls like a ghost, except it is through the underground that I wander, never getting lost”.

Your brain focused somehow on the fact that the tunnel you had found in Freydis’ room was probably just one of the many in the opera house and the phantom knew them well, which meant that he had been there when it had been built.

You stored carefully all the information.

Alongside the knowledge that you’d have to check your room for secret paths.

“… but what I am here for is because I have a favor to ask you” he called it ‘favor’ as if it was something that could be asked and not something that was required of you “… I have a letter, you’ll have to give it to Freydis, my beloved”.

You wanted to look up to the sky to show your annoyance at his obsessive romanticism, but you simply nodded, as he exited the letter from his own pocket.

“Tell her it’s from a secret admirer of hers” he said, almost as if he didn’t want the glory of the writing “… I’ll notice if you haven’t given her the letter, and I’ll also need to know if anybody is courting her, I heard of some talks that put my heart at unease”.

You almost wanted to tell him why he didn’t give her personally the letter.

But that day you weren’t feeling particularly suicidal.

“I’ll give it to her tomorrow”.

The phantom chose to look over the sarcasm in your voice and simply nodded.

But you weren’t able to forgo the way he seemed almost awkward.

Did you have to let him leave?

Should you have said something?

“… I’ll now go” and although he was your captor, your chains weren’t visible.

He just waited for a nod of yours to disappear in what looked like a trap door.

And you made sure to make a mental note to cover the thing with your trunk.

The letter was the only proof of the presence of the ghost.

A proof of his humanity also.

You touched the letter, honestly curious of the phantom’s writing and although you knew you shouldn’t have, you carefully undid the ribbon wrapped around it, gently loosening the glue with the vapor coming from the small tea boiler you owned.

And then the true letter was in your hand.

And well his calligraphy wasn’t as beautiful as his music.

It was rough and almost written in a moment of mental confusion.

But you understood the words.

And…

… again, the phantom wasn’t as talented with words as he was with music.

The words seemed to lack of deepness, staying on the surface in a way that seemed shallow, as the phantom constantly complimented on Freydis’ beauty and grace, adding a bit of words on her singing technique, but seeming more a cheery boy than a passionate lover.

And although you knew you shouldn’t have, you reached out for another piece of paper.

And then pen and ink.

You didn’t know why you were helping your captor.

The man who was terrorizing the theatre stuff and stalked Freydis like an enamored puppy dog.

But there was something in his clumsiness and awkwardness that made you want to try to help that unlucky man.

Maybe you hoped in his pity.

Or maybe it was the fact that you had always loved writing and used it as an escape.

And you needed one in that crazed situation of ghosts and lovers.

* * *

The following morning you had finished the letter and slipped it under Freydis’ door on your run for the morning chores, knowing that it was the sole time of the day where nobody would have caught you doing such a thing.

Instead of Ivar’s clumsy and shallow attempt, you had built a masterpiece of passion and corruption, as you asked Freydis to be, indeed, ‘adventurous’ and ‘to search in her heart for a bit of love for her secret admirer, her angel of music’.

You had lived so close to the singer that you knew her favorite words and things, so you had added them to the letter and when at lunch she had told you and the other girls of the company about the letters, blushing so intensely that it seemed almost like flames had started inhabiting her cheeks, you had been so proud of yourself that you had forgotten to push the trunk over the trap door, in your room.

Which meant that the phantom visited you again, the following night.

‘… did you deliver my letter, little mouse’ he spoke softly, his voice harmonious even when he threatened you “… I’ll check with my beloved if you have”.

“I did” but you held yourself back from saying anything about the ‘rewriting’.

“You served me well, little mouse” he muttered as he turned around, clearly wanting to rush to Freydis, but sending you one last look, before he left “… and I always treat those who serve me well to the greatest thing I own”.

And the following day he was true to your promise as you found a bouquet of flowers on your bed, something that made you blush, although you moved to grab it and watched yourself in the mirror, admiring yourself and thinking you were some kind of diva.

But then you found a ticket right next to the bouquet of flowers.

Addressed this time to ‘my little witch’.

The words weren’t comforting, as you started reading it.

‘You changed my words, little mouse’ he wrote, again that harsh calligraphy but it had something childish almost ‘… Freydis almost surprised me when I heard the letter readby her, and I understood you might have been curious again. Be careful, curiosity will be your death’.

A shiver at that threat got to you, but thankfully the rest of the letter was much different, as phantom told you that he didn’t hold a grudge to you for what you had done.

Just because it had gone well.

And he wanted for you to write more letters for him.

‘You appear to be as versed in the arts of the pen as I am in the arts of the music’ he wrote ‘… I’d like you then to turn my music in writing, I’ll come to you for more letters and I expect you not to tell anybody about our deal’.

Another veiled threat but as you started to become the ‘phantom’s writer’, you grew strangely closer to the man, less terrified of him, although his mask still stood on his face as a sign of his otherworldly nature.

But he seemed more and more human by the time of your meetings and he was strangely respectful, visiting your room only after dinner and when you were decent, enough to make you forget to cover the trap hole with a trunk.

And it made you discover more and more things about the theatre.

The ghost sold to the theatre owners his original musical scripts and they gave him money to keep himself quiet, a monthly fee for him to be simply nothing, but as of lately the producers had started refusing to pay him.

And they disobeyed any order he gave them.

Which made him infinitely angry.

‘… they are a bunch of ignorant clowns’ he pranced around your room whenever he was angered by this behavior, and you had to hide your smile underneath your hand ‘… they think that just because they are new they won’t have to pay for my services, but they’ll regret it’.

‘Why can’t you simply propose yourself as a playwriter?’ you proposed, wanting to speed up the whole conversation since you wished to go to sleep and the minutes were passing without writing anything turning quickly in an hour of the phantom’s dramatic behavior.

And sleep would have taken you.

But with the way he had immobilized himself, with a mortal stillness, you couldn’t help but regret not having held your words back.

‘Do you think that somebody would want a masked playwriter?’ he slurred the words as if he wanted to imitate the tone of those who had told him that they wouldn’t ever accept such a thing.

He was damnably good at imitating others’ tone and many times during his long rants he would do a few impressions of them, making you laugh.

And he wasn’t able to hide a small smile from your own laugh, whenever it happened.

‘… I… I do think that the audience would be intrigued’.

Many men of the theatre were quite dramatic and the mask he wore wouldn’t have surprised many of them.

It would have added just a layer of mystery.

‘Do you think they’d want a cripple?’.

It was the flaw of his that had taken you more time to understand.

His bound legs were actually because his bones were frail.

He had once cursed his fate and you had discovered his frail condition, obliging him to either crawl anywhere or wear some braces that allowed him to stand tall, but you could see the pain they brought him.

‘.. I…’ you were at loss of words, because although you wanted to reassure him, you also knew that he was a smart man and compassion wouldn’t have suited him.

‘This is why I can’t come to the light and I have to let those idiots take the glory…’ he muttered darkly, turning his back to you, as he moved away from you ‘… and they won’t even give me my monthly allowance! How the hell is a poor man supposed to survive?!’.

‘It wouldn’t matter for me’.

Your words brought him to turn around, as he sent you a look of pure disbelief, but as his eyes reached yours, hooking in them, he saw there was no lie in them.

And he wasn’t able to deny the truth.

‘… I do think that you need your hands to write music, not your legs’.

The sarcasm in your voice dissipated the intense tension between you two, and the phantom helped it with a laugh of his own at that quote, before his face became again serious and he started to churn out what he wanted you to write.

And strangely that night you were rewarded with soft music playing right under your room.

It wasn’t anything as the tormented cry that you had heard when you had discovered the phantom, but a soft lullaby and you slept through the night on a dream of your own.

* * *

Although you had come ‘closer’ to the phantom, you felt more and more distant from the staff of the theatre, both because you had your own chores to do, to which the phantom’s ones had been added, and both because the revelations of the phantom made you take a look again at the people that had been a constant figure in your life.

It just made you feel more and more imprisoned.

And you thought that you were in a grip that was tighter than the one in which the phantom had closed you in, when you had first come in his lair.

You visited again, sometimes.

Even more because you had gained more and more confidence and admiration from the phantom and he’d sometimes make you listen to his music, asking you some help for the operas he wrote.

He held his air of superiority still, but sometimes you’d find him staring at you with interest and surprise, and sometimes you’d answer with a show of your tongue, just to be chastised for ‘not being a proper lady’.

‘Who’ll want to marry me?’ you had once retorted, when he had brought up the argument of marriage ‘… I am poor and indebted, and I’ll leave the company only when I’ll die’.

The worried look on the phantom had brought you to spill the secret that nobody in the company dared to utter, but that you knew so well.

‘My mother died when I was very young, leaving me and my father’ the phantom’s eyes veiled themselves of something that looked like nostalgy ‘… my father was a good man, but he loved the arts and knowledge more than it was humanly possible, and eventually they were his ruin’.

‘He left me without a nickel to my name… or better… he did leave me something, his own debts to the company, his last project and I worked for them since I was as tall as this table, barely ten and already carrying everything around’.

‘… nobody tells it, but each year my debts redouble and I won’t ever set myself free from them because although nobody says it, I am a slave… a slave for them till the day I die’.

You didn’t know why you said such a thing

For all your life you had kept your doubts and your thoughts to yourself.

You had learned that it was better this way.

You hadn’t expected compassion and neither the way the phantom settled in front of you, something lazy and pensive in the way he adjusted himself and you couldn’t deny that although he was crippled, he had a feline agility in his muscles.

You sometimes wondered why he truly hid.

Because there must be more behind his mask.

And soon you were able to discover his own secrets.

‘Before I was born, my mother knew that something was wrong with me’ his voice was low now, as if he was playing the basso in the opera ‘… I almost killed her when I came in the world and when I wasn’t able to move they all realized that I was different’.

‘My father abandoned her not much after, but he left her much of his estates, as a reward for raising his children on her own…’.

You didn’t know whether you should have been surprised by the way he was opening or the fact that the phantom had had a family.

‘… and among them, there was also this opera house’.

The revelation shook you deep as a series of revelations unveiled itself in front of you just as the phantom’s eyes shot away from you.

And you couldn’t help but feel like they would have distracted him, had he set his gaze upon them.

‘I remember growing on these grounds…’ he spoke, his eyes filling themselves of marvelousness ‘… my mother loved the opera, although she hadn’t a voice for it, but she always brought us here, even during the day and even when…’.

Suddenly his voice closed itself in a tight line.

‘… my brothers thought it was a “girlish” way to pass the time, but I loved the sound of music and even more… I discovered the passageways and as a cripple, I had my own place in the world, my own castle’.

He spoke with the wonder of a child, as if he were reliving those moments.

‘… then my picture perfect castle all went down’ he smirked as he shook his head with a sadness that broke something inside of you ‘… after my father’s death, his first wife came to us, asking to have my mother’s properties for herself, since they had belonged to my father and she was his sole heir’.

‘She said that my mother had illegally married him… that he was still married to her’ he ranted with an anger that broke through his body and eventually he got up to release it ‘… they were all lies, and my mother deserved those estates and she fought but that damned bitch…’.

His teeth clenched and his hands seemed to become tighter in their fists and as they opened again, he revealed moon-shaped wounds, created by his own nails.

‘… that damned bitch was sick and used dirty tricks to get my mother out of the picture, quite literally. She killed her, made it seem an accident, fooled all my brothers, but I knew it was her, I fucking knew it’.

Although nobody would have believed such a thing, you couldn’t help but feel like phantom was telling you the truth, with the way he seemed so emotional, unlike his usual laidback attitude.

And the story seemed similar.

“I fought against my brothers, I almost killed that bitch, but then my brothers closed me off here, to die, after she had transfigured me, ruining my face and marking me as a monster”.

_**“We are all someone’s monster”.** _

The words left your mouth without your mind taking a correct look at them.

But you had read the phrase in a book, and you couldn’t help but agree.

People were all monsters if you had to judge them for their mistakes.

But they weren’t simply monsters, they were ‘somebody’s monsters’, when you looked into it.

And although this didn’t justify anything, it did prove that there was much more behind every monster.

Everyone held a story and to witness one was the greatest honor and sin in the whole humanity.

The phantom smiled at you.

It was a sad smile.

As if he wanted somebody to tell him that, before everything happened.

In a life that wasn’t his anymore.

“… but when you are a monster, you can do things humans can’t” he explained, as he pushed one of his hand down the pocket of his coat, to extract a small instrument.

An ocarina.

A graceful object he brought to his sinful mouth and the melody that came out from the small object would have been able to enchant snakes.

“… and it is better this way” he muttered darkly, once the ocarina was out of his mouth “… the woman who I want to defeat will have no idea of when I’ll come for her as a true ghost, since she thinks I am dead”.

A mischievous light had shone in his eyes and he had gone back, indeed, to being a phantom.

A ruthless one.

Before you had to go back to your room, having to run around a few last errands for the days, he moved to you one last time, his bigger hands coming close to yours as they grabbed them with no intention to hurt.

They were the hands of a player, with calluses on every pad, brushing against you in a rough stimulation that made you blush lightly.

‘I have said much to you, little mouse, you strangely are smart enough to entertain me, but I hope that not a single word of this will leave those pretty lips of yours’.

* * *

A week later you had known why the phantom’s story was so similar.

It was the story of Ivar Lothbrock, the deceased last son of Ragnar Lothbrock, and the youngest brother of the owners of the opera, which explained why he knew what hid itself underneath the theatre.

And yet, to everyone, Ivar Lothbrock was dead.

He had died apparently in a horrible accident, that had involved a carriage gone out of the road.

Even though body hadn’t been found, probably eaten by the animals, during that cold night.

You had discovered this through looking to old newspapers you had found in the producers’ office, since they had some of the objects of the Lothbrock, left behind in some drawers, completely carelessly.

The newspaper also revealed Ivar’s hated enemy, Lagertha, the dance teacher.

She had been Ragnar’s first wife and although the Lothbrock still held their ownership on the opera house, all of Ragnar’s other properties were in her hands.

Which made you wonder why she was still teaching to girls in the theatre.

She could have done so much with such a fortune to her name.

And yet she was stuck in a position that had nothing of her true importance.

It made no sense.

And why had Ivar’s brothers sided with her?

They had lost much in dealing with the woman, so you honestly thought they hadn’t done the deal for their own personal gain, but much more to cover up something.

Ivar was described as a brilliant boy, but at the same time you just thought that back then Ivar’s anger hadn’t been able to be expressed through music and his behavior could have been much more aggressive, eventually being a threat for his brothers.

Either way you knew it was none of your business.

And yet, you were curious.

But it wasn’t normal curiousness.

It was the one that accompanied a growing love.

The one that made you wonder what your lover preferred to eat.

Or what was his favorite color.

Or anything about him in general.

Ivar had been the first one to treat you like a fellow human, one that had a mind of their own instead of being always almost considered an object that could be used to solve everything.

And he was a brilliant musician.

Those things always had their own charm.

But you knew that such a feeling, intensified by your knowledge of his terrible past, was impossible to be expressed in your reality, since not only the phantom, or better Ivar, hadn’t shown any interest in you other than as a secretary and a confidante.

But his love and interest for Freydis just grew.

Day by day.

And Freydis day by day rejected it.

She loved the letters but not knowing who sent them, she thought they belonged to the charming young man that had caught you listening on Freydis’ conversation with Ivar, or better her ‘Angel of Music’ what he taught her he was, whenever he appeared in the mirror.

You couldn’t help but be struck by the irony of the whole situation, quite rivaling the ‘Twelfth Night’ by Shakespeare, one of your favorite plays of that author, but you doubted this would have ended in such an happy way as the comedy.

That day you had been also witnessing a particular harsh commentary between the two producers, as you waited outside waiting for some chores of the day, since they had been strangely diminishing.

And you didn’t understand why.

Usually every chore that was free was pushed upon you, but now they were equally distributed among all the theatre staff, and you doubted it was an illuminated thought of the producers.

‘… the phantom has become to be quite requesting!’ commented Harald, the man was as strong as rock but at the same time he had the most obvious of weaknesses: women.

‘But brother you have to understand that we won’t solve this simply ignoring his requests’ commented his brother, Halfdan, the man always made a small shiver come down your back whenever you met him in the hallways.

You knew that whenever he could, he would punish the workers who slacked off.

‘… you have seen what he has been able to do’ and you knew exactly what Halfdan was referring to.

A few days ago, he had stolen all the keys of the boxes of the opera.

And the night after his trick, the opera was supposed to be opened again, for another show, but the phantom had refused to give back anything till Freydis was put in signora Carlotta’s place.

The dramatic soprano had then gone on a strike, refusing to publicize the opera company and staying closed in her rooms, asking that anything was brought to her, which required (Y/N) to run around for her fancy tastes.

But this had taught them that the phantom was dead serious when he wanted to be.

And he wasn’t simply somebody who limited himself to send letters.

‘Firstly he wants our best box, and then he asks for us to ditch signora Carlotta’ spoke loudly Harald, probably thinking that there was nobody nearby him, other than his brother ‘… he says “she sings like a frog, meanwhile my beloved Freydis…” Gosh, didn’t I think that girl was a stupid as a frog, I would think she has set all of this up!’.

‘… no, it isn’t that girl’ commented Halfdan, his tone was lower than his brother and it was pensive as if he was thinking between himself ‘… but I agree that his requests are starting to be ridiculous, we could overlook the money and the box, but he thinks that the theatre belongs to him!’.

Which was partially true, although Ivar wasn’t the legal owner.

But the theatre answered to him and solely him.

‘… we can’t simply let go Carlotta! She might not be the best, but she brings with her many stables fans and we need that advertisement’ muttered Harald, pensive and you came closer to the door, carefully ‘… and he has also ask for us to lower the debt of that desperate girl… (Y/N)’.

You couldn’t deny that the mention of such a thing made you almost stumble back.

Had the phantom seriously tried to help you?

He had seemed always so detached with you and you hadn’t meant to ask for his pity was you told him the story of your life, but some part of you couldn’t help but be warmed up by his gentle thought.

… but it must have been simply his way to pay you for your help.

‘… we are also in debts!’ protested loudly Halfdan “… we escaped the countryside to avoid debtors, and now we found a phantom that’ll reduce us bankrupt’.

You had then decided to run away, also hearing footsteps coming closer to the door, which made you nervous, alongside the fact that your face was still hot for the small gesture the phantom had tried to do for you.

Threatening your producers…

… he had certainly his methods.

As you were running away, you ended up bumping into Lagertha, who stood strongly on her toes, meanwhile you ended up falling back.

You raised up quickly, a bit ashamed for what had just happened for your clumsy antics, and also because you had been avoiding Lagertha after Ivar’s revelations, although the woman didn’t notice your reluctance to stay with her, after you apologies and the way you immediately tried to sprint away from her.

Just to be stopped.

“… actually, Mrs. (L/N), I was looking for you” she commented, as she gently reached out for your wrist to make you stay in place “… I need you to grab a few things for the girls of the ballet group, they have been disappearing as of lately…”.

You had to pinch your hips to avoid smirking to her face, with the knowledge that Ivar had probably stolen all those things just to be petty with the woman who had ‘ruined his life’.

“I’ll make sure to have them by this afternoon” you replied softly, as Lagertha handed you the money for it.

“… and use the change to buy something for yourself for the masquerade”.

You didn’t know whether you were shocked more for the fact that she was being extremely nice, or the masquerade she had mentioned.

You had definitely left out on your evenings spent in the phantom’s lair.

And from your face she recognized your surprise at that news.

“… oh, you haven’t heard” she asked, and you lied about being busy with many chores outside of the theatre “… Halfdan and Harald are holding a masquerade to celebrate the success of this season”.

Which meant they were trying to cover up the major screw up they had created.

With wine and money.

That they didn’t have.

“Oh, that’s good” and then you looked at the money in your hands “… and thank you for the…”.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart” she mumbled swiftly, as she already went through her road “… I do know what a girl like you might need. You take care of my girls’ needs and I do of yours”.

And as your hands cradled the money, you couldn’t help but feel like she knew much more than you thought.

And the change she had promised for your dress, ended up in the hands of the first beggar you found.

* * *

The phantom had been actually very pleased to hear about the masquerade, unlike you.

It wasn’t that you weren’t excited, you solely thought about the fact that you’d be without a doubt forced to run around errands also at the masquerade, even more now that the phantom had shown his interest to your producers.

But you couldn’t deny that the feverish excitement that filled the phantom’s eyes made something inside of you tremble, almost as if you were coming closer to a fire that would burn you undoubtedly.

‘Don’t you understand that it is my sole chance to enjoy a party and introduce myself to Freydis’ he looked so happy that his slight limp was noticeable in the way he jumped around, eventually catching your hands and bringing you closer.

So close that you could taste his distinguished smell.

The only thing that wasn’t covered in the awful stench of the sewers.

And yet, it wasn’t your nose that was tickled the most.

Again, your eyes fell on those beautiful and sinful lips, and then on the intricate masks, shaped like a skull and dipped in gold in a way that seemed tacky and yet monstrous.

After Ivar had revealed to you that his face was wounded you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from thinking about what he might hid underneath his mask.

You had had actually horrible nightmares of finding nothing more than a faceless skin underneath it or burns so intense that they reddened his skin and brought the bones to stretch out on his face.

Either way the phantom turned out the monster of your nightmares.

But it never repulsed you.

It was quite the contrary.

‘… I’ll show them that their disobedience didn’t go unnoticed’ and as soon as he had come close to you, he distances himself again, filling himself of the darkness that was part of his lair ‘… now leave me, little mouse, I’ll have to think of a plan’.

And your heart clutched releasing an almost pained huff.

But he didn’t notice it.

He was truly cursed.

And the worst was that he didn’t know.

\---

The following week, the one that came before the masquerade, was quite infernal for you, since you were pushed around to grab everything that could have been necessary for the celebrations.

Harald and Halfdan spending every nickel, they didn’t have in their pockets to make the all thing be as glorious as they could be, since the entire Copenhagen’s social elite would have taken part in this.

And it was a huge pressure for the entire theatre to appear at its best.

Freydis had had almost a crisis of nerves and once you had caught her disappear on top of the roof of the theatre, her admirer in front of her, leading her by the hand.

Something that had made you swallow a big intake of saliva, as you shed your eyes away from her, shamefully.

Ivar grew mad with love for her each day, and the further she went away for him.

It would have been explosive, but you couldn’t do much.

Either way Ivar was irrational, he wouldn’t have listened to you.

And you would have just resulted jealous.

Which you were.

You had always admired Freydis’ beautiful voice, but it had always been a feeling lined with jealousy, because she had something you couldn’t have ever owned, because you weren’t born with it.

And now she had taken something from you, unwillingly.

And there was no way you’d conquer it for yourself.

You just felt always in debt and less than her.

And it wasn’t a pretty feeling.

You tried to escape it through writing.

You had always been good with that and although you wouldn’t call it a talent, it was your sole way to escape the harsh reality in which you’d be consuming yourself till your last years.

At least the opera house was beautiful.

You had been thinking that when you had come back from all the errands of the day, pushing yourself face down in the rough mattress you owned, some kind of torture that dig itself in your stomach, but you were too sad to do anything other than roll around.

And found the phantom.

‘… would it cost you much to knock?’ you muttered, as you moved to turn around so that you were facing away from the phantom and towards the wall, just to feel a weight make the mattress shift lightly.

Ivar had set next to you.

“You seem sad” his words hung around in the air as you suffocated a light sigh, and the tears stained the mattress underneath you as you clutched the sheets so tightly to hide your emotions “… why are you sad, little mouse?”.

When had you reached this level of intimacy?

Either way you choked back a sob.

“… I am just tired…“ you muttered and the phantom didn’t look less convinced, but he didn’t open his mouth to ask for more.

He knew that not much would have come from that.

And instead his voice started softly singing, in a low tone that raised itself to almost match a more feminine one and you recognized the song as a lullaby, an old one, you had heard women in small villages sang to their babies.

To ease their cries.

And you weren’t surprised as it worked with you.

But what surprised you in your soft sleep was the hand that threaded itself softly in your hair, attentive not to pull and careful to any scratching.

And you dreamed of a world in which that voice belonged to you.

* * *

As you had believed the masquerade had taken much of your time and strength, and that morning you had gotten up early to make sure to adjust everything, even more since you had been ‘allowed’ the ‘great honor’ of taking care of Carlotta.

Which implied that you had been running up and down for the opera house to satisfy any spoiled wish of her, eventually sneaking off to also help Freydis, the girl’s eyes shining with a secret that she couldn’t keep in herself.

And eventually she had to reveal it.

‘… can you keep a secret, (Y/N)?’ she asked you excitedly and you nodded your head, although you did it with genuine interest, not thinking to report it to Ivar ‘… me and Lars are going to marry each other!’.

The brush you had been using to comb her hair, clacked down heavily as your hand lost its grip on it.

‘… (Y/N)?’.

Freydis must have been startled by the lack of reply from you and you tried to breath in not too soundly, as you kept your eyes away from the mirror, not wanting to reflect in it your own thought.

‘I am happy for you’ the lack of excitement for the news went unnoticed by Freydis, who proceeded to giggle her interest and love for her suitor and how lucky she had been…

… all things that made you simply go with your thought to Ivar.

You had seen and noticed Freydis’ passion for her admirer, but yet…

… things had all moved so fast.

Too fast.

‘We’ll announce it at the masquerade, tonight!’ she chanted, her argentine laugh being a stab in your heart as your hands again became torpid and cold ‘… it’s perfect timing, isn’t it’.

‘Of course’.

Your smile seemed as rigid as the mask Ivar wore.

The same one you would have seen at the masquerade tonight and you wouldn’t have been able to see it, to meet his eyes with the knowledge that Freydis would have broken his heart.

And from all your visits to Ivar, his sanity had always seemed to hang by a threat.

That Freydis held in her hands.

And you couldn’t deny that his distrust was almost justified.

He had been betrayed by so many.

And this would be another betrayal.

But it was too late for you to reach the lair.

And Ivar wouldn’t have believed you.

He was blinded by Freydis’ love.

Still you were at unease as you reached your room to get yourself ready, changing in the maid uniform you’d be wearing for the night, to help the guests, although it wasn’t your official job.

But it would have gotten you a little extra money.

But as you enter your room, you found a dress laid in your bed.

It wasn’t a modern style, reflecting a more vintage era, as it had a big gown and a thin waist, probably a corset being built in it, and you thought for a moment that it might have belonged to Carlotta, who was used to wearing this kind of things…

… but then you found a ticket next to it.

And your heart sunk.

‘To my little mouse. You are my fairy godmother and I think you deserve a day as Cinderella. Have a good masquerade, little mouse’.

The words just struck something inside of you and as you put on the dress, matched with a glorious masks painted with flowery themes all over it, you felt yourself crying for the betrayal you felt yourself committing.

And yet as you took a look at yourself in the mirror, you did feel like Cinderella.

But tonight, you would have lost far more than your shoe.

* * *

Everything that had happened at the masquerade had gone exactly as your worst scenario had pictured it.

Ivar had come, he had stolen all the attention for himself berating the producers with a wonderful song and everybody had in that moment thought it was simply a surprise exhibition, Ivar’s voice being as pleasant as they came, deep and tight, extremely manly.

But it had faltered as he had noticed the way Freydis clutched herself closer to her beloved, and then the shining of the ring on her finger, as he came close to examine whole situation more attentively.

But the woman had just shifted away, scared.

And the man who loved her, had come forward to protect her.

In that moment you had wanted to do everything to reach out to Ivar, but you were frozen on the spot.

Ivar’s words then didn’t falter anymore but they became knives, as they ordered to the producers to set up his latest opera: ‘Don Juan Triumphant’.

He would have played the main character and Freydis, the beautiful female one.

‘… I won’t accept any other option and, if you do… if you think about tricking me this opera house will burn down to the last brick’.

And now the audience finally understood that this wasn’t a show.

It was the truth.

Once his show had finished the phantom had left untouched and finally your legs were finally able to move again, and as you raised the full dress, you followed after him.

But he was quicker, and the opera house was his.

So, you were just held back, going back to your room to quickly try to reach him by his lair, wanting to desperately just hold him.

But you had found the trap hole closed, which had brought you to become more and more desperate.

Crazily you had thought that he wouldn’t have closed off Freydis’ trap hole, but as you moved to her rooms, various voices mixed itself in it, and your ear immediately laid itself on the door.

‘… he is our brother, Ubbe!’ chanted one, and it seemed familiar.

‘But he is out of control, Hvitserk! Ivar has gone mad!” and the names seemed also familiar.

“… we had cut a deal with him: he’d stay in the sewers and we’d allow him to live” this voice was definitely higher than both and this is where you finally caught a trace of it “… and what are we supposed to do with Lagertha? She thought him dead!”.

It was the Lothbrocks, who were talking.

Ivar’s brothers.

Plotting something against him.

“… he is still our brother” muttered lowly who you thought to be Hvitserk.

“Whatever you do, please… protect me! He tricked me saying he was an angel… but he is the Devil!” now you recognized perfectly Freydis’ worried voice “He wants me to duet with me, but I can’t… I just… I can’t”.

The Lothbrocks seemed to dismiss her concerns quickly, more focused on themselves as they chattered lightly, whispering scheming thoughts that just choked you and made all your fears come true.

You had to do something.

And as a plan came to your mind, your hand pushed the handle, opening the door.

\---

It felt strange to wear a stage dress, when you had been used to comfortable dresses all your life.

Although the dress was extremely simple.

Mostly composed by layers on layers of veiled fabric, resembling the one of a wedding dress, it had been designed to hide your face to the phantom.

The Lothbrocks had been surprised by your appearance in the room, but when you had started speaking your plan they had just been able to agree with you, as they helped you find the resources and things you needed to set up everything.

‘… what do you want for risking your life?’ had asked Sigurd, the youngest with doubt in his tone, since you were a stranger to them.

A stranger that had brought them the solution.

But a stranger, nonetheless.

And yet, you were their best asset.

You’d take on Freydis’ role, as Ivar came to play his own.

Since you couldn’t sing to save your life, Freydis would be nearby concealed so this way, it’d appear you were singing, and she had taught you how to move your lips to imitate the sound.

According to the brothers, the plan was of you talking with Ivar, convincing him you were Freydis, this way you’d give him a date on top of the opera house, where he would find the brothers waiting for him.

But you had plans of your own.

And you knew that Ivar wouldn’t have simply listened to Freydis.

Although you hadn’t spent much time with him, you knew what kind of man he was, and he wouldn’t have waited for a date from Freydis.

He would have taken what he thought was rightfully his.

And you couldn’t help but be worried that your intuition might be wrong.

But you had to do what you thought was best.

And this involved also trusting your guts.

They had kept you alive for so long.

And there wasn’t much else you could do.

The day of the exhibition, everybody was tense.

The brothers had come to you to revisit the whole ‘plan’, reassuring you that they’d be watching attentively every moment, making sure that you weren’t in any way hurt, which you doubted since you knew that men like them.

They hadn’t hesitated to sold their own brother-

They wouldn’t have done anything for someone like you.

A no one.

‘… if I do this, will you do what I asked you?’ you had simply muttered, when they finished instructing you on what to do.

You hadn’t thought that you would have been believable if you simply offered your help for nothing.

So, you had asked them, in case of your successful mission, to pay off your debts to the producers, to which they had agreed without even knowing the amount of money.

But now that you were sat down at Freydis’ vanity, waiting to be called for your part, you couldn’t deny that you were growing nervous.

What if Ivar refused to listen to you?

You weren’t anybody for him.

Just ‘his little mouse’.

The dress he had gifted you had been hidden in your closet to now, you’d still reach out in it, whenever you needed the strength to know that it was real.

That it had been all real.

You had to hope for the best, not to think about the worst.

“… it’s your time, (Y/N)” called you Freydis’ admired, as the soprano appeared from the last scene, wearing a simpler dress than yours and breathing deeply trying to regain her breath and voice, as she gently stopped you from moving towards the stage, and before you could protest, she enveloped you softly in a loose hug.

And you had to hold back a slight sob, as you disentangled just to find her eyes full of compassion and gratitude.

She didn’t think she’d see you again.

And you knew that she and her admirer had chosen to do something on their own, hadn’t the plan worked, a chariot waiting for them outside.

“… good luck” she sang, as she moved to take her own position, as you hid behind the curtains, waiting for you to be called by the maestro.

And when the light shined upon you for a moment you didn’t know what to do.

It wasn’t your usual place and the most you had done on stage was brushing away the remaining of a few celebrations’ crumbles left by careless authors and the lazy audience.

But you regained quickly your wit, as you heard Freydis’ voice, gently taking a step after the other, till you reached the center, presenting yourself in front of the audience, and although the fabric was very very thick you could see the audience.

Their happy smiles at your song as you accompanied it with your mouth and hands.

And then as punctual as he always seemed to be, from the other side of the curtains, the phantom appeared.

_“You have come here_

_In pursuit of your deepest urge_

_In pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent_

_Silent”._

That deep and angered voice made you choke on your own tongue, but you didn’t allow it to struck you down instead following her words, and matching them with some of your own.

_“You have brought me_

_To that moment when words run dry_

_To that moment when speech disappears_

_Into silence_

_Silence”._

Ivar’s voice was mixed with an eroticism that made you blush and although it was Freydis, who was truly answering to him, he was looking at you.

So, intensely you thought it’d burn you.

But Freydis voice soon mixed with Ivar as slowly the song was being dragged out, but Ivar’s gaze was definitely set on you, burning with such an intensity that brought you to believe that there was only you, two.

Don Juan and Aminta.

Ivar and (Y/N).

The phantom and his little mouse.

The song was slowly coming to end and you were supposed to exit with the phantom, hand in hand, and it was where you were supposed to tell him about the secret meeting, begging him for forgiveness.

But before you could exit, the phantom went down on his knees, Ivar’s lips grimacing underneath the new mask he had worn for his own opera.

And he exited something from his coat, making all the audience inhale a sharp insight as you looked everywhere but him.

You were supposed to go out with him and tell him about his brothers’ plan, but before you could say anything, his hand reached out to yours and you understood this wasn’t part of an unscripted play.

This was the phantom asking you to marry him.

Asking Freydis, actually.

But before you could utter your answer, a horrible sound appeared in the room, right when the ground went down beneath your feet.

* * *

When you woke up, an almost reverent touch was delivered to your hair, over the thick veil that you were wearing and again you were faced with the phantom, as your eyes opened lightly, your head pulsing intensely-

You had probably hit your head.

But on what?

This time as you took in, Ivar you weren’t afraid, but when his hands moved to unveil you, you couldn’t help but grow nervous, knowing that you weren’t ‘his beloved Freydis’.

And as soon as he discovered it, his eyes opened in shock, before they became narrow, in a way that made him look almost predatory and you were swiftly pushed away, but your body had the swiftness to protect yourself from another fall.

“What are you doing, here?!” he uttered loudly “… in her place! Is this a joke?!”.

“Ivar, you have to listen to me…” you hadn’t noticed the fact that you had called him with his own name, till his eyes became furious and desperate, pure flames in them and you couldn’t deny that it hadn’t been your brightest idea.

“… listen to the words of a treacherous witch?!” he shouted again and pushed himself away from you “… you are exactly like, Lagertha, slithering in my mind and…”.

“Your brothers are coming to kill you” that shut his mouth effectively.

It should have been the first thing you said.

“They wanted to use Freydis as a bait for you” you mumbled, seeing his eyes fill themselves of a desperation that was already known to him.

As if he had expected Freydis’ betrayal.

“… and let me guess, you idiotic little mouse, took her place”.

“To tell you this!” you insisted and although Ivar faced away from you, you saw his shoulders almost relax, as he pondered on your revelations, but you knew you hadn’t much time.

The brothers had studied the opera sewers map the whole week, being careful and attentive to it, so although Ivar was again in his secretive lair, you knew it was just a question of a few minutes before they came for him.

“… why would you do that?” Ivar’s eyes shone with such a curiousness and a childish naivety that you almost wanted to reach out and gently caress his cheek, but not only he had the mask covering it, but he would have probably stabbed you in this moment.

“Because I care about you”.

“I doubt it” he smirked with such a devilish nostalgy that you seriously wanted to hug him, but simply tightened the fists on your sides.

“… I do, Ivar”.

“Don’t call me that!” his scream stung you, but you said nothing “… we barely know each other and if you think that you care for me, you must be crazier than I thought you were when you first threaded through the lair”.

“… then why did you confess me your family story?” you were glad he had turned around, when he had screamed at you, because now you saw an adorable blush on his cheeks “… you might not have been my best friend, but you treated me right and as a friend. You listened to my stories and tried to help me…”.

“You are a fool if you think that means that I’ll trust you” he muttered, but you could see that he was just trying to hide his feelings.

“… then don’t trust me, but you know for sure what your brothers want to do”.

And his eyes darkened, as his eyes moved to a wall that you thought had an exit door.

“… what will I do outside?” he seemed again childishly naïve “… they won’t accept me out there, I…”.

“You always thought they won’t accept you” you replied, as this time your hand came in contact with his mask, brushing your knuckles against the decorated wood of it “… but I heard your music and it conquered my heart from the start”.

You knew you were revealing something that he immediately recognized.

Your feelings for him.

“… you aren’t doing simply for my music” he came closer to you and you found yourself lowering your eyes.

He loved Freydis and you had to seem desperately pathetic to him.

But you were surprised as his calloused hands brought you chin to raise again, and as you did, he was unmasked

A burn scar run on the left side of his face and you wondered how Lagertha had disfigured him in that way, but you weren’t able to deny that it brought anything out of his devilish handsomeness, it just added more to his tormented charm.

And you were gentle as you caressed the scarred face, gaining a grimace from Ivar, who you faced with a worried look.

“Doesn’t it disgust you” his tone was low, and you just had to softly lean in and kiss his cheek, to prove him you weren’t and as you faced him again, his eyes were surprised on you, and then a settled look appeared on his face.

“I should have chosen you, not Freydis” the comment burnt and made your heart sing, and you just smiled at him softly.

“We can’t love who we don’t feel feelings for”.

And you were halfway through turning to allow him to leave, but he then gently grabbed your arm to turn you around this way you’d be able to face him again, and you expected some more words of rejections.

“I’ll run away and I know you won’t follow me because you have your place on here, but…” and he gently moved his forehead to yours, and you were filled with his lovely smell “… I’ll find you, one day, and I’ll work on the feelings I am not able to express, right now”.

“You don’t have to force…”.

And before you could say anything, he leaned down and kissed you.

And you understood with the kiss what he meant.

He felt the same way for you, but Freydis’ phantom still hung heavy on his heart,

As you disentangled, he gently held your hands still, and you hurried him to go, already hearing his brothers’ steps.

“… continue on working on your stories, by the way!” your eyes opened and you just shot him a confused look, before realization set down on you “… they are the best I have ever read”.

And then he dragged himself to the exit that seemed a tunnel as you just waved at him goodbye.

What were the coincidences that you’d see him again?

But you held back the tears.

Although everything was lost, you had a kiss.

And then you saw him disappear in the tunnel and darkness.

* * *

When the brothers had arrived at the lair, they hadn’t found Ivar, and you had made sure to appear asleep, as if shock had made you faint, which the brothers had believed deeply and had kept the end of their bargain.

They had actually paid your debt and from that morning you’d be a free woman.

But what would you do?

You had only your stories, now.

The producers had offered you a place in the opera house, but not only you knew that it would have simply meant you’d keep on being their servant, but also the opera house held painful memories about the loss of your phantom.

A month had passed, and you had thought many times of following after him in the tunnel, because although the brothers had adjusted the chandelier that Ivar had used as a distraction the night he had ‘kidnapped’ you, they hadn’t touch the lair of their brother.

As if they expected him to turn back.

You wondered how horrible your family had to be to make you want to kill each other, truly.

You were extremely happy for your freedom

But life without a plan seemed difficult.

You admired and were envious of Freydis, who had settled in the soprano role, after signora Carlotta had fled the scene, scared by the phantom’s latest attempt at intimidation and she’d be soon married.

You were so happy for her.

But you just sat on your bed, knowing that you had to leave it at any minutes to find life outside of the opera company, you had stayed in for all your life.

Freedom was strangely scary.

But it was better than being dragged in invisible chains.

As you were halfway through picking up your luggage, you heard a knocking at your door and you thought it was either Halfdan or Harald, asking you to leave, but you found yourself facing a strangely-dressed man, as you opened the door.

His clothes looked exotic and he seemed absolutely out of place and making you wonder whether he had been employed to cover the space you had left, and he just wanted you out of this place, to settle his own room.

Either way your thoughts were washed away as he talked to you.

‘Mrs. (Y/N)?” he asked with a thick accent that made you put him in the Russian atmosphere, although you weren’t an expert of it.

You nodded, and he gently pushed a letter in your hands, as he talked with you.

“I am Dimitri, a friend of your own friend, lord Ivar” your eyes must have shown exactly how surprised you were of that news “… he has sent me to tell you that he is well and safe and to give you this letter”.

And he gently pushed a beautiful letter full of golden decorations, in your hands.

Certainly, Ivar had nice friends.

And very rich ones.

You unwrapped the letter, and immediately recognized the same horrible writing that belonged to Ivar, and smirked softly, happy to have something physical to remember him by, other than the dress.

You hadn’t been able to save his musical playbills, because his brothers had burned them down as soon as they hadn’t found him in the lair, as if to erase his presence, but you had tried rewriting a few of them, although your music knowledge was absolutely non-existent.

_‘Dear little mouse,_

_Or should I call you ‘my savior’?_

_I miss you’._

The lines had been crossed out and then rewritten and you couldn’t deny that it brought your emotions to flood in your stomach, to know that he admitted that he missed you.

_‘… I know you didn’t expect to hear from me…_

_… but…’._

A few lines went without anything written on it, as if Ivar had hesitated, wondering what to write.

_‘… but you won’t get rid of myself so easily’._

_You laughed softly at that, staring at Dimitri, wondering whether he was thinking you were crazy._

_‘We left on a strange not and I can’t get myself to stop thinking about that kiss._

_I thought that Freydis was my love, my musical soulmate…_

_… but you write stories and I sang them I should have seen that before…’._

Your chest raised at the comment.

_‘… I do know you don’t owe me nothing and it is completely within your rights to have changed your mind, I wouldn’t blame you…_

_… who would’._

Your heart clenched at hearing his doubts, and your hands tightened their grip on the paper.

_‘… but I am not here simply for my silly feelings._

_I have a job offer for you, in Russia._

_You wouldn’t believe how I ended up in here._

_That’s a story for a glass of kvas meanwhile staring at the Russian wilderness’_

Your eyes closed as you took in the image that he was narrating to you.

_‘… I work for a prince in here, he is a lover of arts and he is a fan of my music._

_He wants me to make an opera for his marriage._

_And I told him I would but I am only good with music not storied._

_But I know the best storyteller, in the whole world._

_You, little mouse’._

A light blush was brought to your face and this time you did feel Dimitri’s eyes on you.

_‘… if you accept this proposal, Dimitri will bring you in Russia._

_He has enough money to pay the debt you own the producers, and you’ll gain twice as much if you accept to be my writer’._

This would have been the solution to all your problems.

And yet it felt like a dream.

_‘Again…this isn’t something that I can oblige you on doing._

_The more I think, the more I felt like I could never ever oblige you to do anything._

_And I can’t even now._

_But…’._

Again, those lines left blank, empty but slight sputter of inks laced the paper, completely showing that he had tried to write just to put down the pen again, and again.

And eventually the letters came.

_‘… come here, little mouse, I fucking miss you._

_And that kiss wasn’t enough’._

The blush just intensified, and you couldn’t deny that you felt uncomfortable at the thought of Dimitri witnessing such a private moment.

His gaze had set up on you as he had realized that you were nearing the end of a letter.

He was probably expecting an answer from you.

And as much as you wanted to at least try to be professional, you replied, immediately.

“I’ll come with you”.

A mysterious adventure and those longing words, your first day as a free woman had started beautifully.


End file.
